The Thing About
by K. Koumori
Summary: [Gorillaz Slash. Murdoc2D.] The tension is thick enough to touch at Kong Studios.
1. Mouth

**The Thing About**  
Chapter: Prologue. So yes, it's gonna be short.  
Series: Gorillaz.  
Rating: TBA.  
Warnings: Foul language, very light angst, and slash (Murdoc/2D) in future chapters.  
Disclaimer: Albarn's and Hewlett's.

The _thing_ about Murdoc was his mouth.

That had to be it. That mouth - as decided rather randomly one evening, upon sitting next to the man on the studio kitchen's couch and attempting to watch television while _instead_ chancing brief but frequent glances at him - and the way it worked. It wasn't an attractive mouth, by any means. It was a mouth that held a set of drug-stained, crooked teeth, an abnormally long tongue, the foul odor of too much nicotine with a hint of alcohol and caffeine, and the ability to unleash a slew of words so vulgar and offensive that it was almost surprising the man hadn't been killed off already for aiming said words at the wrong person at the wrong time.

How he survived in a world and society like theirs with a daring mouth like that, 2D hadn't the faintest.

However, the verbal rottenness of Murdoc's mouth was also what drew people to him like helpless little moths to a blazing inferno. It was difficult not to respect the guts, the _balls_ the man possessed whenever a thought of his voiced itself aloud. To someone who had been around him long enough, it became easier as time went on to tell that he was always, always thinking before speaking, although he never really acted or sounded as such. Murdoc knew that his words had power. He knew they could intimidate. His mind worked much quicker than people generally tended to assume, and 2D had never witnessed a moment in the man's presence when what he said was something he didn't mean.

It was fascinating, really. It was fascinating to know that such a repulsive mouth could also be such an intriguing one.

"You're starin at me."

There was a fleeting, brief moment of eye-contact, 2D's gaze raising and Murdoc's swinging over from the television. The singer smiled and laughed despite the slight embarrassment trickling through his cheeks and warming them, and turned his dark, damaged eyes back to the TV. Murdoc was no fool. He knew when eyes and attention were on him. It was what he lived for, after all.

2D mumbled an apology.

Murdoc half-shrugged and returned to their program, already bored with it but lost on anything better to do.

And they sat like that, side-by-side, for another hour or so until Murdoc's apparent boredom became a bit too much and the man rose to his feet with a grunt. He paused to scratch at his inner thigh before moving away from the couch and toward the kitchen.

2D hesitantly craned his neck around to watch. "Wotcher 'avin?"

Murdoc opened the refrigerator and peered inside. "_Piss_." he growled, after a gloomy, glaring moment. "There ain't nothin to eat aroun'ere."

2D watched him turn away from the refrigerator and shuffle toward the door. The proverbial black rain cloud over the man's head was nearly visible. "Why don't we's go out t'get somefink?" he tried helpfully. "No sense n'starvin ourselves, hey?"

Murdoc stopped in the doorway and turned to grin at his band mate over his shoulder. The grin was unreadable. "Unless you wanna try goin out there in th'blacka night wif all the zombie problems we been 'avin, that don't sound like a good idea."

Point. And a good one, at that.

2D tried again. "Maybe we's can order it? Get som'mun to bring it 'ere."

"Daft," came the quick reply. "Do you 'eaven an'ell expect anyone to come 'roun'ere wif them things wanderin 'round?"

Shot down a second time. A third would just be another bruise on his already re deflating ego that he didn't need. Instead of going for the third strike, 2D stopped trying and slowly turned back around to face the television that he knew he wasn't going to watch.

Once again, Murdoc's mouth had caused him to shut his own. That damned mouth. And the pointless, uncomfortable obsession with it that just wouldn't quit.

After 2D's head was turned, Murdoc stayed a moment longer, his eyes lowering to what he'd been stealing his own (better concealed) glances at all evening. It was hard not to look, as it was very clearly _there_ and big enough to catch anyone's attention from across a bloody room. Was 2D really that oblivious to it, or was the wank just showing off?

Murdoc's unhappy, unimpressed gaze lingered.

Then he turned away, leaving the singer and the large, red and purple hickey marring the pale skin on the side of his neck to the empty, meaningless glow of the television set.


	2. Breakfast

**The Thing About**

Chapter: One.  
Series: Gorillaz.  
Warnings: Foul language, very light angst, and slash (Murdoc/2D) in future chapters.  
Disclaimer: Albarn's and Hewlett's.

The thing about breakfast was that it was an easy meal to have a conversation over.

Not a very clear or intelligent conversation, but a conversation nonetheless. Breakfast was good for talking because if things came out jarbled or incoherent or just generally nonsensical, one could always blame the grogginess of having just woken up and having not kickstarted the brain yet. Or something to that effect.

That morning started off no differently than it normally did.

Of the four band members, 2D and Murdoc were the ones who tended to sleep in the longest. Noodle, growing up quickly and really beginning to find herself, seemed to have very little interest in sleep. She had too much inspiration and too much creative energy flowing through her young veins to stay hidden from the waking world for too long.

Russel just happened to become somewhat of an early bird, since his exorcism. He also seemed a lot less dazed and a lot more focused. A lot less grouchy and hostile, too.

2D had gotten up before Murdoc that morning, as he normally did. He was just dropping down onto the couch in the studio kitchen to have breakfast when Murdoc made his own grand, ever-unattractive entrance, shuffling into the kitchen in a pair of unfastened, unzipped pants and nothing else, with a most foul, squinting expression on his face.

He caught sight of 2D, who'd turned to watch him.

2D said, "Mornin." and smiled.

Murdoc grunted back. Turned away and started the morning ritual of rummaging for something edible. Fortunately, Russel had gone out to refill the studio's food supply earlier on in the morning. 2D was pleased to find cereal in the cabinets after expecting to find nothing.

Murdoc helped himself to the cereal as well and took a seat beside his singer. They sat in an odd silence, 2D eating slowly and Murdoc staring at the black television screen, blinking and trying to wake up.

Which he eventually did. Not all the way, but it was good enough.

But instead of delving straight into eating and leaving 2D's presence as soon as he could, he ate just as slowly as his band mate did and spent a good chunk of time quietly watching him out of the corner of his eye.

Halfway through his breakfast, he decided in his own foggy, just-woken-up-grogginess to be bold and ask 2D about the huge honking disease of love-suction on his neck.

What did he have to lose?

"Where'd y'get that, hey?"

2D paused, spoon in mouth, and glanced up at him. "Mmnn?"

Murdoc trailed a finger down along the side of his own neck. "That. The canc'rous mark'a sin on yer neck."

The singer's face blanched. Then it started to turn red. He pulled his eyes away and looked at nothing. Stirred his soggy cereal and milk with his spoon.

"Som'mun."

Interesting. Maybe he wasn't as boring as Murdoc always thought him to be.

"Looks like she kne'wot she was doin."

2D didn't say anything. He kept his eyes averted, and he kept eating.

Murdoc was intrigued. He wasn't going to press, but he couldn't help but wonder who the... er, lucky lady was. No, instead of prying, he took a different route.

Heckling.

"Aw, com'n now. Y'could'na expected no ones t'see that thing. Yer not even tryin t'cover it. Quit actin so embarrassed."

2D stopped blushing, but was obviously not in the mood to talk about it. It was none of Murdoc's business, anyway. "Piss off," he murmured, his embarrassment morphing into slight, sulky irritation as he brought his bowl to his mouth and sipped at the milk.

Murdoc watched. Very intently. An amused grin started to etch itself over his lips.

2D lowered the bowl and refused to look at his band mate as he rose to his feet. He passed by him, heading for the sink. "Stop starin at me. It's creepy."

The bassist chuckled.

"An' stop laughin. S'even creepier."

No sincerity. "Won'appen again, mate."

"Cig'rettes?"

"Desk room, last I saw'em."

Mismatched eyes followed 2D to the door, and lingered on the doorway even after the other man disappeared through it.

"Are we's doin any work t'day?" Murdoc heard him call from the other room a moment later.

Murdoc got up to put his own bowl in the sink, where it would inevitably stay for weeks until someone got sick of the mess and cleaned it. "I don't fuggin know," he grumbled back. "We'ad an in'nerview soon. I can't remember if'fit was t'day or t'morrow."

"Me reckons that was t'morrow," came the reply. "Ciggy?"

The Satanist moved to the door and peered into the desk room. 2D had already lit up and was lounging in one of the rolling chairs, waving his pack of cigarettes at him. A strong wave of craving came over him, and he agreed, pulling up another chair and sitting down.

They smoked in silence. Once in awhile, 2D would say something mundane; the weather was one topic. The 'zombie problem' was another. Thinking about cleaning up the mess in the room was yet another. And another was wanting to take some of the keyboards and see if anyone noticed. Murdoc replied and reacted with bored staring, the occasional disinterested grunt, and idly flicking ashes onto the floor.

The thing that caught Murdoc's attention full-on was when 2D looked straight at him and said, "You been actin _funny_ lately."

That haunting gaze was on him directly. It was uncomfortable. "Wot?"

"Well, I mean..." he trailed off, trying to collect his regularly jumbled thoughts and make sense of them. "Y'been quiet. An y'aven't been pickin on me so much."

Murdoc still looked bored, but he seemed interested now. "Wot're you goin onnabout, dullard?"

"Well, I.. I..." It was well-known around Kong Studios that 2D had a hard time with words. He was better during the day, after he'd indulged himself in the massive amounts of painkillers that he took for his terrible, head-splitting, nagging migraines. "I no'iced that yeh've been thinkin a lot. Like y'got too much happ'nin in th'brain. Too much... too much doobry."

"Hey?"

2D exhaled loudly and frustratedly. "Y'just been actin weird is all."

Murdoc was still and silent for a moment. For 2D, it was a moment of simply waiting for a response. For Murdoc, however, it was a very awkward moment. Though he was quiet outright, his mind was suddenly moving a mile a minute. He showed signs of weakness? And 2D, of all people, noticed it? That would mean that the others were sure to notice it too, right?

_Shit. Bugger._

He scoffed, snickered, and stood up, breaking eye contact completely. "'Weird'. 'Been actin weird', he says." He turned and started for the door. "Whiles he's out gettin bunked-up by random chicks at'is age..."

2D, offended, almost called him on his hypocrisy, but the man had already left the studio, lost in his own unintelligible murmuring.

The singer sighed, defeated _again_ and brushed off _again_, and made a move to rise from his own seat, but not before noticing that the nicotine-addicted Murdoc - in his queer rush to leave - had carelessly dropped his cigarette, still burning and not even half finished, to the floor.


	3. Dreams

**The Thing About**

Chapter: Two.  
Series: Gorillaz.  
Warnings: Foul language, very light angst, and slash (Murdoc/2D) in future chapters.  
Disclaimer: Albarn's and Hewlett's.

Notes: Non-graphic, just-a-pinch-of naughtiness here, on 2D's side of things. Kind of a cliff-hanger. Feedback's loved; and thanks to all of you who have dropped me a review or two since I started writing! You're motivating me. Thanks so much!

* * *

The thing about dreams is that they aren't real. 

They are a figment of the unconscious imagination, a compilation of images, scenerios, memories, people who oftentimes look and sound and feel real but aren't.

Waking up from a dream can mean nothing. It can also be relieving. Or disappointing.

2D woke up from his dream very early in the morning. He woke with quick breaths, his body hot and slick with sweat, his sheets clinging to his skin, and an enormously painful, throbbing ache between his legs.

The details were fuzzy, at first, but as he sat up in his bed, staring at nothing in the darkness of his room, trying to calm his breathing and make sense of everything, bits and pieces started trickling easily back into place.

It was a fast, racy dream against a backdrop of violent red and streaks of white and black. He remembered how vulnerable and exposed he felt, pinned beneath the surprisingly comfortable weight of the completely shadowed figure above him. It was faceless, no features, no gender, but it had hands and even now, even after having returned to reality, he could conjure up the touch of those hands. They traced trails of fire up and down and across his body and it was all so _real_, all so torturously lucid that he could physically feel every little detail; every arch of his own back, every slide of skin against skin, every panting breath and shiver up his spine and how his lower body had become an indescribable blur of perfect, blissful ecstacy and before it was all over, before his universe had a chance to explode behind his clenched eyelids, he had woken up.

Gasping for breath and painfully hard.

And thinking back on it all only made it worse.

He dropped back down onto his back, trying to ignore the throbbing ache and calm himself down. The darkness of his bedroom held no comfort for him, and his mind kept helplessly reverting back to the screaming heat of the dream. The pleasure. The pleasure he knew he _felt_.

His hand paused on his stomach and his breath hitched.

The arching. The slow burn.

He bit the inside of his cheek as his hand wandered. Lower.

Those shadowed hands, heavy and rough but somehow comfortable on his hot skin.

Touched himself and shuddered and closed his eyes.

Made an effort to try and keep quiet.

* * *

He didn't wake up as refreshed as he'd hoped, later on in the morning.

* * *

2D didn't really like ramen noodles, but he couldn't help but accept them when they were offered to him by small, delicate hands. 

The sun had started to set, and Noodle joined his side to watch it with him. For awhile, they didn't really talk. They didn't need to. 2D was in no mood to go on like a blabbering fool, and Noodle felt and respected that by keeping to herself, content with simply enjoying his presence. Every so often, between mouthfuls of noodles, he would talk. His voice was quiet and low, but Noodle listened intently to every word.

He found a rhythm, at one point, and went with it. He began talking as though she wasn't there

He talked about how irked he was during the interview earlier on that day. It seemed like every interview had questions that just _begged_ to be answered in jest and untruthfully. Murdoc tended to take the reigns and dominate interviews, being the most opinionated of the four and the most offensive, as well.

The subject of relationships just happened to pop up, somewhere. All four of them had somewhat been expecting that, but nobody had exactly been expecting Murdoc's reply.

He talked to his Japanese friend about how unnecessary it was for Murdoc to call him on his 'lovebite' in front everyone. The subject itself, 2D could have easily side-stepped, but the _way_ Murdoc went about it and what he'd _said _was uncalled for. He'd gone a bit too far over 2D's comfort level, and _despite_ the fact that Russel had forced the Satanist to change his answer and try again with something more appropriate and less harmful to 2D's image (and pride), it all still bothered him.

He knew Murdoc's first answer wasn't going to be published, because Russel had saved his ass and negotiated with their interviewer, but he was still upset.

That particular topic slid into the topic of the morning before. He talked about how there was something about the way Murdoc's scrutinizing eyes had placed themselves on his neck that boiled his blood. There was something in the tone of voice he'd used to question it and talk about it that made his skin crawl.

When he trailed off, not sure what else to say, and ended it all with a mumbled "Fekkin' Murdoc." to himself, Noodle turned away from him to face the setting sun, hands folded meticulously in her lap.

"2D," she spoke up.

He kept his gaze straight ahead, stirring the contents of his half-empty bowl with his chopsticks. "Yeh?"

The girl took a breath.

"There are some... people in life. Who we love very much. There are some people in life who... we hate very much. But there are also... people. People in the world and in life who we do not care for. And then, people who we love to hate. And hate to love."

She paused and glanced at him. She remained quiet until he looked back.

"Murdoc-san does not hate you," she continued, holding eye-contact with her friend and offering him a smile. "and he does not hate the rest. Of us. He is just a man. He is a sad man. He is lonely. I know. I feel it."

"But... but'e's always wif a new chick, all th'time."

"It is a vessel. He needs to be with... with somebody. A body. He is very..." She stopped, her eyes sliding off to the side for a moment as she regrouped her thoughts. "...he likes attention. He likes to... to have people pay. Attention to him."

"I do," 2D heard himself mutter back, somewhat against his will. "I do't all th'time an he jus' tells me t'go away or beats me up or summink."

Noodle nodded in understanding. "He is.. your friend, yes?"

"He's me best mate. An he hates me."

Noodle watched him for a moment, before tilting her head to the side, expression innocent and honest.

"It does not work for you. Does it?"

His eyes found their way back to hers. "Hey?"

"Being with... the women. It does not work the way. The way you would like it to. It just... makes you feel more empty. Doesn't it?"

2D held her gaze. "Yeh." He placed his bowl aside and rubbed his forehead. "It don't work. An I should'na done it. I didn't wan'it t'be like this. I didn't wanna be payin child s'port at twunny seven."

"Atashi no tomodachi." (1) The girl timidly reached over and took hold of his free hand. She gave it a gentle squeeze. "You are too much... worrying. You must relax. Calm. Breathe and let yourself be."

He had to smile. Noodle was so wise for someone her age. Such a peaceful person at heart. He envied that. "M'tryin."

"Try _haaarder_," she replied, her own smile growing. "You will not be.. disappointed. You go. Talk to him. Tell him... what is wrong. Tell him to stop. Crossing lines. He cannot be crossing lines anymore."

2D chuckled, releasing her hand to ruffle her hair. She giggled and watched him stand up, brush himself off, take one last look at the setting sun with a quiet sigh.

"M'gonna miss'it when it's gone."

"You say that every evening, 2D-kun."

2D's smile slowly faded.

* * *

The winnebago was smoky, cramped, and had an unpleasant, pungent smell that never failed to nearly knock 2D on his ass when it first hit him. After the first few breaths, the nose adjusted just fine, but the first whiff was the worst. It was a mix between old pot, nicotine, rotting food, and general uncleanliness. 

The door had been slightly ajar, as it sometimes was when the stench started getting to Murdoc and he felt the need to air the winnebago out a little, so 2D timidly let himself in, taking a moment to adjust to the atmosphere before knocking belatedly on the doorframe.

Nobody answered.

"Murdoc?"

Nothing.

He moved further in and shut the door behind him. Took a look around the front.

"Oi, Murdoc? Is y'in 'ere?"

The only thing that answered him was the presence of a large black bird, perched on the top of the driver's seat, staring at 2D with beady red eyes. Staring at him as if he were utterly unwelcome.

Something creaked toward the back, where the man's bedroom was. 2D hesitated before moving toward it. It was dark, and his already-poor eyesight had him moving slowly and tentatively, feeling with his foot before stepping down. Trepidation crept over him. He felt unsafe.

"Mur-"

He jerked as his body was suddenly turned and pushed forward, forcefully slammed into the wall just beside the winnebago's small bathroom. His body hit first. His forehead hit last, with a loud crack.

Hit so hard that he almost saw stars.

He stuggled to turn and face his attacker, but he couldn't move. He was held fast against the wall by a hard body pressed along the back of his own, and strong, rough hands.

_...heavy and rough but somehow comfortable on his hot skin..._

* * *

( 1 : "My friend." ) 


	4. Innocence

**The Thing About**

Chapter: Three.  
Series: Gorillaz.  
Rating: R. Foul language, very light angst, and slash (Murdoc2D.)  
Disclaimer: Albarn's and Hewlett's.  
Chapter Warnings: Drug usage and Murdoc's potty mouth.

Notes: The smut in the next chapter, for the sake of obeying rules, is going to be vague and non-graphic. This chapter leads up to it. I will have an alternate version of the next chapter for all you smut-hunters out there posted elsewhere, so's you can go read it there. Thanks for all theawesome feedback, guys! It's great motivation. :D

* * *

The thing about 2D, according to just about anyone who'd had the luxury of coming in contact with him, was his innocence.

Which was rather funny, because he wasn't as innocent as people made him out to be, sometimes.

He _did_ have a very noticeable and likeable boyish charm, though, and it radiated through everything he did. It was all in the way he talked, the way he moved, his very expressive facial features, and the way he reacted to things. He was very hypnotic, even without trying to be.

This created obsessions, of course. Unhealthy obsessions from even unhealthier people.

He tried his hardest to move, but his attacker had his body pressed against the wall so crushingly close that he could feel his ribcage push painfully against the hard surface with every quickened breath. There was something strangely familiar in the presence, something that brought up the memory of the dream he'd had the night prior, but it was just a little something. Everything else was clouded with sudden mind-numbing fear.

He was being attacked.

When trying to turn his body proved to be futile, he switched gears and _strained_ against the hands and the other body behind him, trying to lean his knees against the wall and push back. He just couldn't do it. His attacker had the advantage; one of his arms had been twisted around behind his back, and the other was pinned to the wall by his side. Any and all attempts at getting away were completely fruitless.

2D panicked.

"L-leggo!" he stammered, still pushing and fighting back despite the straining ache in his thin body that screamed for him to stop. "_Leggo_! Please, Idunno anythin! A-an' I-I-I don'ave me wallet so's I.. I don'ave money for you but if y'could leggo'a me I could go an' get'it an' I swears I'll come back wif it..."

He trailed off and quieted.

He recognized the deep chuckling that was bubbling up from behind him.

Defeated, letting his body slump forward against the wall, he craned his neck around at a painful angle to get the first look at whoever's body was flush against the back of his own. "Murdoc?"

He was answered with a foul cloud of smoke blown directly into his face.

"Wot," Murdoc's familiar raspy voice answered around a cigarette. "y'think y'can jus' waltz right on in an' make yerself at'ome?"

2D coughed.

"S'wot I thought." Murdoc pulled himself away from 2D completely and watched the singer compose himself, first rubbing at his ribs, then shaking out his arms. "Got a lotta nerve sneakin in'ere jus' 'cos the door was open."

"You never minded b'fore," 2D replied defensively, turning to shoot Murdoc what was supposed to be a venomous glare but succeeded in looking more like a vindictive pout. Murdoc just turned away and sauntered toward his darkened bedroom. "an' that doesn't mean y'ad t'go an attack me like that."

"You coulda been anyone," Murdoc called back, before a light clicked on and 2D could finally see a portion of the disgusting disaster that was the bassist's room. He started after him.

"Yeah?" 2D tried his indignance again as he followed. He tried not to trip over anything. Would have ruined the mood. "Like who?"

Murdoc sat down on the edge of his stained mattress and removed the spent cigarette from his mouth, stuffing it out in the crowded ashtray on the table beside the bed. "Like zombies, lackwit. Or'ave you already forgotten those?"

Oh. Well, shit, he had a point.

2D must have visibly deflated, because Murdoc's leer was kicked up another notch or two.

"So. Did you'ave a point or are you jus'ere to waste my life a little?"

The point! 2D'd nearly forgotten that he'd ventured into the disturbing depths of Murdoc's winnebago for a reason, but after that little scene back against the wall, his confidence in making his point and getting it through Murdoc's twisted head was quickly dwindling down to just wanting to get it off his chest as fast as possible and haul arse out of there.

He stared blankly at his bassist - who was already starting to look bored out of his wits - as he herded his thoughts together and put them in order.

"...'kay, lookit," he began, and his voice sounded more sheepish than he wanted or expected it to. "I... I'm sick'a you always pickin on me when I don' do anythin wrong t'you. All th'time, it's _dullard_ or _no-brains_ or _twat_ or _numb-nuts_ or summink an' I'm gettin a little sick'uv it 'cos I'm always makin sure yer'appy an' I always do my job an'... an' I don't think I d'serve that. An-an-an' I... I wants it t'stop."

An unsteady silence fell over them. 2D felt the urge to look away and fidget, but he didn't want to give Murdoc that upper hand. So instead, he kept his eyes on Murdoc's and listened to his helplessly nervous breathing.

Several long minutes passed.

Murdoc shifted, expression a careful blank. "S'lemme get this straight, hey? You." He pointed at 2D. "...want me." Jabbed his thumb toward himself. "...t'stop callin you names."

2D was unaware that he'd started wringing his own hands under Murdoc's unwavering gaze. "Er. Y-yeh."

"An' you want me t'stop pickin on you."

"...yeh."

"An' you don't think s'my place t'be bossin you about."

"No. ... no, I don't."

There was another long pause. Then, Murdoc's gaze hardened.

"Fuck you," he snarled.

2D scrambled to correct himself. Tried again. "But if y'could jus' - "

"Up the arse."

"...jus' gimmie a - "

"Sideways."

" - second t'explain - "

"Wifout the benefit'a lubrication."

2D stopped short. And wisely kept his mouth shut.

"YOU. Don' think that I. 'ave the right to boss YOU about." The Satanist rose to his feet. 2D took a step back. Although he was several inches shorter than 2D, Murdoc always had this uncanny way of making himself seem so much bigger. "Listen'ere, brain ache. I _made_ this band, an' I've been holdin my tongue th'best I can while YOU get all th'goddamned bloody attention an' credit fer it, so's while YOU'RE off bein th'pretty posterboy, why don'tcha let ME control e'erythin else, eh? I say, if it's YOUR place t'be stealin all th'fame right out from under my bleedin nose, I say it's MY place t'be thrashin y'around as much'as I _damned well please_."

2D had apparently struck a nerve. And looked like he was about to wet his pants.

Murdoc's eyes narrowed. "Savvy on that?"

"I... yeh." The singer nodded his head, numbly. "Yeh, we's clear."

"Good." The flash of raw, bitter anger flooded completely from the bassist's face, almost as abruptly as it'd come. 2D kept silent as he watched the other man move to his drawers, open one, dig around in it, and come out with a few wonderfully familiar supplies in hand.

"So hey," Murdoc said, sitting back down on his mattress and patting the spot beside him with his free hand. "no hard feelings, s'long as y'understand my point. C'mere, ey?"

The singer's apprehension was almost laughable.

"C'mon. M'not gonna go for your jugular or anythin."

Cautiously, 2D moved to the bed and sat down. He felt awkward, and instead of trying to break the tension by talking, he quietly watched Murdoc's strong fingers as they were set to work. Roll mouthpiece, bring a lighter to it, spread contents out along denim-covered thighs, sprinkle, sprinkle - already crushed; good show, there, took less time that way - yet more sprinkling. Roll, roll, wrap, lick, seal. Twist and trim.

Repeat.

It was all done with patience and expertise. Almost completely flawless. 2D was nearly hypnotized watching the process.

Especially the part where Murdoc's fascinatingly and unusually long tongue snaked out to finish up said process.

2D mistook that uncomfortable tightening in his abdomen for anticipation.

Looking rather proud of himself, Murdoc set everything on the floor, by his feet. "Y'need to relax. 'ere. Take it an' enjoy. But don't expect this t'be an e'eryday thing."

He passed one of the joints to 2D.

The younger man was quick to accept.

He maintained his silence.

* * *

It wasn't until after the two of them were finished and still thoroughly, bonelessly relaxed and lost within the warm folds of their own private, sinful comfort, leaning their backs against the window sporting the confederate flag beside Murdoc's bed, when 2D spoke up again.

First, he thanked Murdoc.

He was answered with a quiet grunt.

Then he said, "I thought'cha hated me."

"Mm. Naw. Naw, naw." Murdoc looked up at him. He was grinning. A slow, lazy sort of grin. He was a bit further gone than 2D was. "y'jus need t'know who's boss 'round'ere, y'know? I don't want people gettin th'wrong ideas, y'know?"

"But'cher so mean t'me."

"Oi, oi. I c'n be nice," Murdoc replied. "I c'n be as nice'as anyone else. _Nicer _even."

One of 2D's haunting eyes narrowed. He flashed his own partially-toothless grin. "Ahyeah? S'funny." He turned his gaze away and focused it on the hands folded lifelessly in his lap. "Th'day I believe _that _is th'day I bed wif a bloke."

He laughed at what he thought was a funny. An _innocent _funny.

_Innocent._

But Murdoc hadn't laughed with him.

And he glanced back to find out why.

Murdoc's expression had become a blank page again, as it always seemed to do whenever his mind was running too fast for him to keep up. His eyes, always critical, were watching 2D's face rather intently... except now, as opposed to the countless other times 2D had ever been scrutinized with those mismatched eyes, there was something very strong burning behind them. 2D couldn't place it, but it made his face heat up without warning.

It was predatory.

"Until you bed wif a bloke, is'it, then?"

Something heavy settled itself in the pit of 2D's stomach.

Something he knew he'd felt before, numerous times, but never this extreme.

Something dangerous.


	5. Relationships

**The Thing About  
**Chapter: Four.  
Series: Gorillaz.  
Rating: R. Foul language, very light angst, and slash (Murdoc2D)  
Disclaimer: Albarn's and Hewlett's.  
Chapter Warnings: Slash. Y'know. Man having sex with another man. That fun stuff. Drug references tossed in here and there. 

Notes: Writing smut, even tame smut, makes me tired. Idunno why. But, I am as exhausted and spent as 2D is, now, so I hope you all enjoy! Still got quite a few chapters to go through in this story, too. And again, thank you all SO SO much for the awesome feedback!

Also, note that the smut in this chapter has been cut down a bit, for the sake of obeying rules. There's no difference, really... just a couple of things taken out and tweeked, to be on the safe side. However, if you'd like to read the "uncut" version, head on over to:  
www(dot)livejournal(dot)com(slash)community(slash)gorillazslash(slash)18790(dot)html  
And feel free to comment here on Danke!

* * *

_The thing about relationships is how flexible they are._

_Think about it. There are the people we know and trust, those people we have strong, stable friendships and kinships with. There are the people we know we love with all our hearts. There are the people we talk to from time to time but never really know from the inside out, nor do we really care to. There are the people we admire from distances, and people we admire unrequitedly. There are people we put up with simply because we have to. There are people we hate._

_Friends. Lovers. Family. Acquaintances. Enemies. Serious. Committed. Casual - and all the levels in between each one.It could be anything. It could go on for ages._

They stared one another down for a long time after Murdoc spoke.

2D wasn't sure if he'd heard him correctly. He knew what he was seeing on the other man's face and in his mismatched eyes, certainly, but he didn't trust the _words_.

He finally asked, "...wot?"

Murdoc shifted, placing a palm on the mattress beside him, and leaned himself closer to 2D. The singer watched, with wide, endlessly dark eyes, as the older man's stare slowly, smoothly morphed into a leer.

"Y'eard me."

He was at a loss. He didn't know what to say. Things were suddenly computing much slower and with much more difficulty than he wanted them to.

"An' I'd really like t'know, mate," Murdoc went on, slinking a bit too close for comfort - with 2D too shocked and caught off-guard to scoot away - and leaning his lips right up against the sensitive shell of 2D's ear. His voice lowered to a purr. "wot's so wrong about bedding a bloke, hm?"

Despite his discomfort, 2D shivered. The warm breath washing over his ear _did_ feel rather good. "Well, I, ah... w-well, y'see-"

"Nothin," Murdoc cut him off. His lips brushed against 2D's ear as he spoke, and the singer visibly jumped. "at all."

Finally wrenching himself out of his paralysis, 2D moved away, turning to watch Murdoc's eyes carefully. "N-now, Murdoc, that ain't funny an' I don't ap'reciate y'makin' fun'na me..."

"Who said I was makin' fun?"

"Murdoc, s'the grass talkin. Yer _coastin_..."

"An' so're you."

"Yer worse off'n I am, me reckons."

Murdoc fell silent, but he continued to leer. It took all the effort 2D possessed not to look away, or get up and leave. He didn't want to run from him anymore. He had to stop retreating with his tail between his legs. When he'd returned to Kong Studios, he thought he was changed. He felt good about himself, he had his ego back, and he was ready to straighten out his relationships with his bandmates. His relationship with Murdoc, in particular. He even told himself, rather firmly, that he wasn't going to bend over and take it anymore.

Murdoc's words could be powerful. 2D had forgotten that.

After a few weeks, it was back to normal, and 2D had been back to Murdoc's personal Verbal And Physical Punching Bag.

This felt like the ultimate insult. The kick in the gut. The elbow to the ribs. Not only was Murdoc taking jabs at his sexuality, but he was also taking advantage of his drug-induced vulnerability. It _may_ have been the influence of the marijuana, but that damnable leer on Murdoc's face was _disgustingly_ and _disturbingly_ attractive and he didn't need to add insult to _that _particular injury. A blow to his pride.

His discomfort heightened, and, defeated, he finally made a move to get up, get out, get away from those burning, hungry eyes.

He felt the strong fingers wrap themselves firmly around his wrist, but he barely had a chance to process much else before he was jerked harshly back onto the mattress. He tried to scramble back up, but Murdoc, yet again, managed to pin him with eye contact alone.

"Y'ain't goin anywhere," the bassist murmured, moving onto his hands and knees on the mattress. "M'not done wif you, yet."

2D watched, half horrified and half something else, as Murdoc crawled toward him, his body moving with the surprising, utter fludity of a giant, predatory feline. He subconsciously sank down onto his back, keeping his eyes on his band mate's face as he came to loom over him, a hand on either side of his head.

"...Murdoc, don' do this."

Murdoc's eyes narrowed. He looked _evil_. "Yer not exactly puttin up a fight, now, are you?"

2D was surprised to find his voice weakening. "Why're y'doin this? S'not funny and... and, er..." He trailed off when Murdoc bent lower, low enough to nuzzle at his neck. Any and all other words wound up caught in his throat, and he swallowed them - along with the lump that mysteriously formed there - back down. His hands refused to move from his sides, fingers curling into the mattress.

He felt hot breath race over his skin as Murdoc shot back with, "Does'it look like m'laughin?"

"...n-no..."

"Then shuddup."

He did.

Not like he had too much more to say, anyway.

He'd always been curious. He often wondered, passing it all off as innocent, meaningless curiosity, exactly what it was about Murdoc that drew women to him like moths to a blazing inferno. By just looking at him and interacting with him on a daily basis, it was tough to tell. He was ragged and unkempt, he very obviously had a hygiene problem, he cursed like a drunken sailor (_drank like one, too_), he always had this peculiar, somewhat unpleasant scent about him, he had no shame, no respect, and no morals... and yet, women found him absolutely irresistable.

And yet, in 2D's case, here he was, allowing the man to slowly seduce him into an experience he'd never had before with slow, strangely arousing exhalations along his neck and exposed collarbones.He barely needed to touch him. How was that? What did Murdoc have that nobody else didn't?

_It's the drugs, mate._ he told himself. _The drugs. You're BOTH still blasted and your senses are heightened. He's taking advantage of it. He knows you'll enjoy i-_

There was sudden sting of pain. Sharp, burning, somewhat detached with the aid of his strong painkillers.

Murdoc had just bitten him. Right over the sensitive bruise on the side of his neck.

He grunted, snapping his eyes open and twitching. "OW. Wot-"

"Tell me, Tusspot," Murdoc growled against his skin. "why y'always look so embarrassed when I catch'yeh lookin at me."

"Stop it," 2D pleaded. He started squirming. His legs were already twisted to the side, hanging over the edge of the mattress, so maybe if he tried hard enough...

"_Tell me_." the bassist repeated, louder this time.

"Get th'frig off-"

"Don'make me bite you again."

2D shut himself up, and tried to focus on keeping his breathing under control. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm in his chest.

"I wonder," Murdoc mumbled quietly to himself after a pause, snaking his tongue out to lap over the throbbing bruise. The hickey. "who did this t'you. I wonder..." 2D felt fingers inching their way up underneath his teeshirt, skirting over his ribs, and his breath hitched in his throat. "if she's better'n me."

"Murdoc, yer too_ high_..."

"Stop'oldin back."

"But-"

He was cut off by another brush of Murdoc's tongue. A delightful shiver went through him.

"Go wif it."

Tentatively, after slight hesitation, 2D lifted one of his uncertain hands from the mattress and placed it awkwardly on the back of Murdoc's strong neck.

The man shuddered, and 2D flinched, jerking his hand away.

"No," Murdoc was quick to breathe against his ear. "No." He started a trail of open-mouthed kisses down along the side of the singer's neck. "Keep touchin me."

2D swallowed, obeying the gruff command, returning his hand to where it'd been. Murdoc hummed, a low "Mmm..." in the back of his throat, taking a moment to pull his lips from 2D's skin and push himself up into the touch. The movement of Murdoc's body was so fluidly wanton that 2D couldn't help but watch in hypnotized awe. He was most certainly beginning to see that thing about him that had birds fancying him so much. Behind closed doors, there was just something so deliciously, unabashedly sinful about him and every move he made.

The man was also extremely relentless.

Once he realized that 2D had given up trying to fight back, he'd nearly _torn_ the clothing from the singer's body. 2D had every intention on calling him on it at first, but it seemed unimportant once Murdoc returned to him, ravaging every inch of his skin with tongue and teeth and warm, rough hands. The more he was touched, the more he was bitten and nipped at, the stronger the relaxation and haziness of the weed's after-effects seemed to get and the quicker he found himself falling completely into everything his band mate was doing to him, sighing and gasping and weaving his fingers through dark hair. He began to feel giddy, caught between wanting to smile and giggle, and wanting to move faster.

Murdoc hadn't bothered with preparation. He'd become too desperate and too needy to even _think_ about it.

So of course, for 2D, there had been pain. Horrible, mind-numbing, _agonizing_ pain that ripped through his entire body like paralyzing fire. He pulled his bassist down and held him around the torso with tense, tight arms, biting into his shoulder with his remaining teeth to muffle the scream. Murdoc didn't seem to mind. If he did, he didn't say or do anything.

Tears pricked at the corners of 2D's eyes, and he barely heard the pathetic whimpers drifting from the back of his own throat. Murdoc had been curteous for the first minute or so, straining to keep still, until it became too much of an effort for him and he moved.

2D went with it, his entire body shaking and throbbing as he attempted to move in time with him, rocking his hips up against Murdoc's and choking back pained sobs. It'd been excruciating, but somewhere behind it all, there was a dim flicker of pleasure and he zeroed in on it. Tried to intensify it.

The more he moved, the stronger it got.

Soon enough, the two of them were sliding together effortlessly, both slick with perspiration. Their limbs trembled, the mattress creaked beneath them, the room's smoky odor was slowly replaced with a masculine, musky scent. It was unlike anything 2D had ever experienced before.

He was overwhelmed. He couldn't get close enough, and he tried to hold himself together for as long as he possibly could, for just _one more second_ of that delicious heat and friction.

He broke when he felt Murdoc sucking on the bruise that already marred his skin. Murdoc followed him willingly, clenching his teeth possessively over that mark on his neck.

It took 2D some time to recuperate. Perhaps, yet again, it was simply the drugs, but he'd never felt so spent and satisfied in the afterglow before. Murdoc had settled his weight down on top of him while he fought to recover, as well, and - for reasons he just couldn't explain - 2D moved a weak hand from around the bassist's back to tilt his chin up.

Murdoc's face was flushed. Sweat-soaked hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes were half-lidded. 2D held those eyes with his for a moment, before bringing Murdoc's face toward his own to experimentally kiss him.

And to his surprise, Murdoc kissed back.

It was a lazy, exhausted kiss that tasted unmistakably of copper. A stale, bitter, bloody taste. A repellent taste, but at the same time, it was strangely intoxicating.

Murdoc pulled away first. He dropped his forehead to 2D's shoulder and fell asleep almost immediately.

The singer was left with warmth, comfortable weight, and the feeling of another's heartbeat slowing and relaxing against his own as he let himself fall into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

* * *

thanks goes to reina, for inspiring some of the bits and pieces, and to cap'n stan, for putting up with my whining at one in the morning (my time) while I wrote this. love you guys. 


	6. Regret

**The Thing About**  
Chapter: Five.  
Series: Gorillaz.  
Rating:R. Foul language, angst, and slash (Murdoc2D).  
Disclaimer: Albarn's and Hewlett's.  
Chapter Warnings: Mildly slashy stuff, mostly just alluding to it.Murdoc being an ass. 

Notes: Annnd this is a relatively short chapter. FILLER CHAPTER. Next one's gonna be a doozy... this is preparation. XD  
The angst has been bumped up a teeny bit, but it won't linger like a bad smell, I promise.:) As always, the feedback is appreciated. Thanks so much for sticking with me for this long!

* * *

And 2D had slept for four heavy, dreamless hours.

When consciousness pricked at the outer edges of his sleeping mind and he was drawn sluggishly back to the land of the living, the first thing he registered was the warm weight resting on one side of his torso. The next things were the muscled arm wound rather comfortably around his waist, and the leg settled between his own.

What he didn't have time to register, however - before he turned his head and cracked his eyes open for a look - was just how _masculine_ all of the above actually were.

He blinked his eyes to adjust them.

He stared.

He stared for what seemed like hours.

Very long, slow-motioned hours. Hours that stretched on into painfully endless days.

At first, he was _certain_ that it was the grogginess of having just woken up screwing with his head. But the longer he stared, the more he blinked himself awake, there was no mistaking the gender, and the _identity_, of the face sleeping soundly next to his own on the single pillow.

Jesus.

Jesus Christ.

Slowly, very carefully, 2D managed to squirm himself away from the solid warmth of the body beside him. He dropped his legs over the edge of the mattress and sat, staring detachedly at the dirty winnebago floor and nearly wincing as memories and details trickled and seeped back to him. He tried to shut them out by closing his eyes, but it didn't help. Nothing did.

His lower body ached and burned.

Before then, 2D had never even _entertained_ the idea of sleeping with another man, let alone sleeping with Murdoc._ Murdoc_. Of all people. One of the most vile, crude, disgusting human beings he'd ever encountered in his life. Sure, the man'd saved his life, and 2D looked up to him for it; loved him like a brother, even. He had respect for him, especially as a fellow musician. Owed him his soul, as well, if he remembered correctly.

But, to _sleep_ with him? Why? What had ever possessed them to...?

... oh, yeah. They were high.

As fucking kites.

Their perception was off. Their senses were heightened.

And it was. so. _good_.

His stomach turned. He settled a hand over it apologetically, reaching down with the other to gather up his clothing. Stood up - with much wincing and biting his lower lip - to quietly, carefully slip into his jeans.

He paused, turning to chance one more look at Murdoc over his shoulder.

He retreated across the car park to his room. He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

That's the thing ... or one of the very many, rather ... about regret.

It makes you sick.

* * *

Well, at least he'd figured _something_ out. Up close and personal, Murdoc was actually far, far from beautiful when he slept. (1)

* * *

"The point I'm tryin'a make," Russel clarified. "is just 'cause I have my _own_ problems, don't mean I wanna start ignorin anyone _else's_. Like you guys." He gestured with his half-eaten doughnut - the third of the morning - to the Japanese girl sitting across the table from him, watching him quietly. "I know you guys got your problems, and I like to _help_ with them. I don't want what happened with Del, and what's been _happenin_ with me since he left, to make me negligent."

Noodle smiled and nodded her head, her hands folded wisely on the table in front of her. She had long since accepted the role of the band's unofficial, unprofessional psychiatrist. She handled the role wonderfully.

"I see," she replied. "You are too much worrying about pleasing others, Russel-san. First, I think, you need to... step _away_ from. From others and their problems.You.. you need to have, uh, that _space_ for yourself, and for yourself to... to think."

"But you guys-"

"Iie, iie, iie desu." (2) She waved a hand at him. Shook her head firmly. "See, this is... is where you are having trouble. Too much worrying. Worrying about us. We are... _smart_, as well. We can take care. Of ourselves. You do not... ah, have to watch us all the time. _You_, need time for _you_. And I, I will not hold it against you, or... find you negligent. Neither will the others."

There was a pause. Russel idly turned the doughnut around in his hands. "...y'think so?"

"Russel-san," she said in a mischevious tone. Her smile was sweet. "I _know_ so."

The door to the kitchen opened and the two fell silent, turning their heads to watch an underwear-clad, very disheveled Murdoc amble in, posture slouched and hair sticking up and out in nearly every direction imagineable. Noodle made a face caught between amusement and slight revulsion, and Russel seemed not to take notice of his band mate's very heavy lack of clothing.

The bassist stopped halfway to the refrigerator, eyes catching sight of the plate of doughnuts on the table. "Oho," he mumbled, changing direction and moving in to take one. "surprise, surprise."

"And you can thank Noodle for it," Russel said with a hint of indignance. He knew he wouldn't, not honestly, but it was worth the try. "it was _her_ idea, and she got up real early to get 'em."

Murdoc was already shoving half of one into his mouth. "Yeh yeh fanks abunch," he muttered around it, and swallowed before adding, "An' wot're y'doin goin out by yerself? Yer just'a kid."

"Oh, there is much more to me... than _just a kid_, Murdoc-san," Noodle shot back with a smile.

For the second time that morning, conversation was abruptly paused by the opening kitchen door. What came through it had everyone, Murdoc included, frozen and staring.

2D looked a _mess_. He seemed too pale, paler than his usual pasty self, and the dark bags that normally hung below his (now) half-lidded eyes were far darker and more noticeable than usual. There was such a terrible lack of energy and spirit in the way he looked, the way his shoulders were hunched, and the way his feet barely lifted from the floor as he walked. He was making quite the effort - even in his apparently exhausted, miserable state - to avoid eye contact with anyone.

Russel noted that he was wearing the same faded jeans he'd worn the day prior. That was unlike him.

Noodle, on the other hand, noted that the bruise on the side of his neck had gotten much worse. It looked red and angry, and the skin around it was irritated. She thought she could make out the slightest, faintest hint of teeth marks.

How odd.

Murdoc didn't note anything. He was too busy fixing 2D with a blank stare as everything sort of flooded back to him again.

Had they really...?

They most certainly had.

But was it...?

Oh, yes. _Painfully_ consensual.

Murdoc grinned. A slow, wide, toothy grin. He didn't care if anyone else saw it, either.

2D shuffled to the refrigerator. His small, tired steps were careful and slightly off-kilter. It hurt to walk. It hurt to _move_. Everything below the belt was sore.

"Hey, D," Russel spoke up tentatively. "there're doughnuts over here, man."

2D, fingers curled lifelessly around the refrigerator door handle, slowly turned to look back. "Huh...?"

"...doughnuts." He gestured to the plate.

Instead of looking at them, though, the singer's eyes flickered to Murdoc. The grin settled calmly over the older man's face was enough to churn 2D's stomach again, and he had to turn away.

"Nah," he murmured. "S'awright. Thanks, Russ. I don' feel too good an'ehway an I jus' kin'na wanna..." The rest trailed off into quiet, incoherent babble to himself as he pulled the refrigerator door open, reached in, and came back out with a can of beer.

"What crawled up'is arse an' croaked?" Murdoc mumbled. 2D didn't hear him.

Russel did. He turned to pin him with a warning glare. "Maybe it was _you_."

When the drummer placed his attention back on 2D, Murdoc's grin slid easily back into place. _Well, I didn't_ croak _up there, that's fer certain_.

"Do you need some... new pills, 2D-kun?" Noodle asked, ignoring Murdoc alltogether.

He shook his head. "Naw, naw, naw, m'fine. Jus' need time to..."

He paused for a long while. The other three wondered if he'd even finish the thought at all.

Eventually, he did. "...adjust."

Murdoc snorted loudly. 2D twitched.

"D, man, somethin's obviously wrong, here," Russel said. "and y'know, we can help. We're your _family_, man. C'mon. Talk to us."

2D stared down at the can in his hands. "Family," he muttered. "Yeah." He chuckled, but it came out weak and emotionless. "...m'fine, Russ. Thanks, though."

Noodle and Russel exchanged concerned looks. Murdoc grabbed another doughnut and, still grinning, wordlessly left the kitchen.

2D was too busy popping the can open to notice.

* * *

(1) - TOTAL reference to something that happened on the forums back in... 2002, was it? 2D told Murdoc he was beautiful when he was sleeping. No lie.  
(2) - "No, no, no." 


	7. Guilt

**The Thing About**  
Chapter: Six.  
Series: Gorillaz.  
Rating: R. Foul language, angst, and slash (Murdoc2D.)  
Disclaimer: Albarn's and Hewlett's.  
Chapter Warnings: Slashy stuff. Swearing. Murdoc being an ass (again). 

Notes: OKAY... this was written mostly on sleep deprivation. And caffeine. Lots and lots of caffeine. I hit a very, very large and painful writer's block about halfway through, and it took me awhile to pull out of it and get back into the swing.  
So. If this sucks, that's why, and I apologize; I'll try to get the next chapter flowing a bit better. This one gave me a very hard time.  
2297 words, six pages in Word. Boom baby.

OH. There's something else I'd like to touch base on: Apparently there are a few readers out there claiming that I'm an ignorant American author writing the accents badly.See,  
(a) The only thing American about me is the misfortune of living here (for now), and  
(b) I'm not writing the accents and dialects to a T. I'm writing them as I hear them being said in my mind, by the characters.  
Just wanted to, uh. Clear that up, I guess. It's been bugging me.

Enjoy! Ehm, hopefully. And again, thank you so much for the feedback.

* * *

Noodle waited a day.

She may have been a preteen, but there was much more to the girl than met the eye. There was no mistaking the very obvious wisdom there, despite her age, and she'd gotten used to quietly studying the characteristics and personalities of her band mates and growing to know each of them from every angle she could manage.

She'd gotten to know 2D the best. There was something very magnetic about him that drew her to him like a fly to the angelic honey he reminded her of.

That was why she was so concerned, now. His personality, she'd noticed that morning in the kitchen, and for the rest of the same day, had recently taken a rather drastic turn for the worst and it worried her.

In the duration of that one day, Noodle had taken her usual, observant sights off of Russel and Murdoc and placed them more primarily on 2D. She didn't necessarily follow him around and spy on him, but whenever they so happened to be in the same room (which happened a lot, as he mainly stuck to the studio kitchen's sofa, sitting with apparent discomfort and pretending to watch television, so it was easy for her to check on him and hang around for a little while), she watched him carefully. He wasn't himself. He was too listless and lost in thought, and he barely noticed anyone else. It had to have been Murdoc's doing, somehow; the last time she and 2D had spoken, 2D had left her on the front steps of Kong Studios to confront their bassist about his behaviour.

Murdoc, himself, had hardly been around that day. She was too focused on 2D to really care, but she made the mental note nevertheless.

_Something_ had to have happened between them. It was only logical.

However, she recognized that 2D was the kind of person who needed time and solitude to get over something, so she waited. She waited one day before approaching him with the nagging questions that lingered around her mind like a rotten stench. A very distinct rotten stench.

Halitosis on toast, indeed.

She paused at his closed bedroom door, listening for signs of life on the other side. When she was met with the occasional melodic plunking of a keyboard, she opened the door and stood in the doorway with a bottle of soda (1) held in one hand.

"2D?"

2D's long fingers halted in place on the keyboard, and he turned to glance over his shoulder. He offered a small smile over the cigarette hanging from his lower lip. "Oi, Noodle-girl."

She took his smile as an invitation and moved into the room, shutting the door behind her. "Konban wa," (2) she greeted in reply, toeing off her shoes and leaving them neatly by the door. "What are you doing?"

2D turned his entire body around on the small bench to face her and removed the cigarette from his mouth. "Tryin'a write summin' out. Tink'rin. S'not comin out too well, though." He scooted himself down a bit (with much care) and patted the spot on the bench beside him.

She settled down next to him happily and willingly, handing him the bottle with a smile.

Cigarette still clutched between two fingers, he gratefully took the bottle and ruffled her hair with his free hand. "Thanks, luv."

Noodle nodded and folded her hands in her lap. "How are you feeling today?"

"M'allright," he replied, twisting the cap from his bottle.

"Better than yesterday, I hope?"

His face went blank as he brought the soda to his lips. "Yeh."

Noodle went quiet for a moment, watching 2D take a long swallow. She idly swung her feet, just barely touching the floor. "Did you… have a talk with Murdoc-san?"

A sudden darkness swept over him. It hunched his shoulders and it soured his expression.

"I see, you did."

"Yeh." And then, with reluctance, "I don't really wanna talk 'bout'im right now."

Noodle leaned a little closer. "I think you do. I think… that you have wanted to since, ah, since yesterday."

There it was; the regret, again, that pooled in the pit of his stomach and crawled up his spine and left a bad taste in his mouth. He took another swig from his bottle in attempts to wash it back down. "I'll live."

The girl's eyebrows drew together worriedly. "Did he hurt you?"

The smoky, musky scent. The mix of searing pain and overwhelming pleasure. The heat and the desperation and need and sick desire -

He started to feel ill again. "Naw," he lied.

Noodle didn't say anything aloud. She didn't have to. Her expression _alone_ clearly told 2D that she wasn't buying it. She didn't want to pry, though, so she decided to keep her mouth shut and let him have his peace.

After awhile, out of the blue, he said, "I wonder what makes'im tick. Murdoc, I mean."

Because even though he'd tried to keep it to himself, Noodle was too easy to talk to.

He could feel her eyes trail back to him, but he kept his own on the mouth of his bottle, held in his lap.

"Sometimes I feel like I jus' wanna get inside'is brain an figger'im out. Y'even told me yerself, once, 'at everybody's got reasons b'hind everything they do. Sometimes I wanna know wot _his_ are."

"Where… is this coming from, 2D-kun?"

He opened his mouth to reply. Paused.

Let it come out as a defeated sigh.

"… wish I knew."

* * *

Day three of the week, the day after the talk with Noodle.

2D was hit with another lucid dream, and this one was relentless. The theme was similar, but this time, the shadow had a face. It had features. It had a body, and a voice, and breath, and expressions, and a scent (_repellent yet intoxicating_), and a taste, and a tongue, and teeth.

It had warm, calloused hands.

It had dark hair.

It had mismatched eyes.

When 2D snapped awake, drenched in his own sweat and trembling just like last time, the ache between his legs was terrible. _Terrible_. The idea of fixing it himself crossed his mind, but the thought was surprisingly fleeting as he felt his legs move over the side of the bed.

Standing and walking made it worse. So he quickened his steps.

The Winnebago door was closed when he got there.

It didn't take too long for Murdoc to stagger out of bed to answer the frantic knocks.

It took him even less time to wake up all the way, upon finding a half-nude, tenting 2D leaning against the outer doorframe, breathing heavily and nearly _pleading_ with those haunting, damaged eyes.

Fingers curled around a wrist and pulled.

2D barely had enough sense to close the door behind him.

* * *

The fourth day was easier to deal with than the first one was. There was no change in 2D's mood, and he still dragged around the building like a robot, but at least he wasn't really limping anymore.

That night, Murdoc stayed up and waited for him.

A dream didn't need to prompt him this time, either.

* * *

By day _six_, Russel had decided that enough was more than enough.

"Just what the _Hell's_ goin on wit' you two, huh?" he asked Murdoc when he caught him in the studio kitchen, lazing on the sofa and flipping through channels.

The Satanist glanced up. "Hey?"

"Turn the damn TV off and spill it, man. I'm not fuckin around."

Quirking a barely-visible eyebrow, Murdoc pushed the power button on the remote and calmly set it down beside him. "Wot's eatin y'out, Russ?"

Russel crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Look, I been keepin my damn mouth shut for a few days now and I can't do it anymore. Somethin funky's goin on wit' you and 2D and whatever it is… it's sick, understand me?"

Murdoc almost looked bored. "Clear as crystal, mate."

"I ain't kiddin, Murdoc," Russel shot back. "Have you even taken a good _look_ at 'im lately? In a few days he's become some kin'na weird-ass walking corpse. A_ few da_ys."

A smirk tugged at the corners of Murdoc's mouth. "He's always been a walkin corpse though, don'tcha think?"

Russel's jaw clenched. "Spill, Murdoc. Everytime I see 'im now, he's sportin a new bruise. What the Hell've you been doin to him? "

"Y'really wanna know the answer t'that?"

"Damn right I do."

"Y'_sure_ you want t'know? The whole juicy story, eh?"

"Stop screwin around."

Grin. "We're fuckin, mate."

There was a beat of silence. A very, very long one.

Russel's expression had gone from angry to blank to utterly confused in that one, single beat. "…what?"

"You heard me."

In his confusion, his slight embarrassment, and his inability to clearly and fully comprehend the weight of what had just been confessed to him, all Russel could do, at the time, was muster a nervous smile. "…you're tellin me that… you… and 2D…?"

"Like_ rrrrrabid_ weasels in heat."

Another beat. Russel could feel his brain breaking.

"…naw. _Naww_, that ain't right. Y'all ain't like that…"

"Like wot, man? Not catchin yer drift."

Russel pulled out of his shock and slid himself right back into anger.

"Arrogant bastard. An' you call ME gay…"

Murdoc half-shrugged. The lazy lift and drop of one shoulder. "No, I still think'at yer a flamin' faggot, Russ."

"And you ain't?" Russel ground out.

The bassist fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Look, man, it's a _hole_, awright? It's a hole to put me knob in when m'feelin randy enough, y'know? S'not anything to do wif gender."

"... you don't see havin in'nimate relations wit' another man as homosex'shul?"

"No," Murdoc replied, and his tone suggested that he was beginning to grow tired of the subject. "I don't. Fallin' in _love_ wif another man is gay. _Beddin_ one is jus' sex. It's release, y'know? It's a body to fuck around wif 'till you've'ad your jollies. Wham, bam, thank you_ mmma'am_, yer done. It's over. That's it." His expression hardened, and so did his voice. "Nothin. Personal."

Russel saw him reach for the remote again, and he moved to block the television set. "Naw, naw, naw, Murdoc, I ain't done with you yet. I shoulda known something big was up between you two. It'd es'plain why D's such a fuckin mess lately. Do you have _any_ idea what this shit's been doin to him?"

"Nope. Don't really care either, mate. 2D's a big boy; he c'n take care'a his own. S'not my problem."

Russel was on him in a blink. It was the first time he'd ever seen the drummer move that fast. He barely had time to register the movement before there was a large fist balling up the front of his shirt, there were eerie, angry eyes boring into his own, and he was being shoved back against the sofa so hard that his spine cracked.

"You listen to me, motherfucker," Russel spat, leaning in close to the other man's face. "you better _damn_ well fuckin believe that this is _your_ problem. 2D ain't like any of your little hussy groupie girls, a'ight? You can't _do_ him like that. _Yo_u know the shit he's been through, Murdoc; you were there, an' almost all of it was _your_ fault. He's fragile, you sunnuvabitch. Y'gotta treat him like you'd treat an antique. I ain't gonna sit back an' watch you do that to 'im."

"_Fragile_?" Murdoc repeated incredulously. "No. Y'said it yerself, mate. He's been through worse, an' I'm not th'_only_ one 'round'ere who's shoved him about before."

Russel's fingers curled tighter into the fabric of Murdoc's shirt. "And I ain't the one usin his body as a vessel every night an' dumpin him like trash the next mornin."

"He'll get over'it. Let me go."

"No, man." And Russel's grip tightened even more. "No. He won't. Y'wanna know why? 'Cause you're you. You're Murdoc. You're the one he admires and looks up to, man, an' I'll never un'nerstand why. Stop and think. Why don't he react this way with women?"

Murdoc didn't say anything.

"Why do you _really_ think he's draggin himself around like a lifeless zombie, huh?"

Still didn't have anything to say.

Russel gave him a hard jerk before letting go completely and turning to leave the room. "Chew on that for awhile."

He did.

He rarely ever took advice from Russel, or listened honestly to any of his lectures. But this time, he did.

The remote control stayed where he left it.

The television set stayed off.

* * *

2D came to him again, that night. He let him in. But he didn't make any first moves.

That's_ the thing_ about guilt. It can hold one back.

There was no way he could have been as breakable as Russel said he was. The man had survived a coma and two nasty car accidents, never mind all the various violent beatings. As far as Murdoc was concerned, 2D was made of stone. Hollow, empty stone. A statue. A statue that was watching him with disturbingly innocent eyes.

Those eyes made him feel guilty. About everything. He hated it.

The singer lifted a hand and tentatively reached for him. He was just fine to meet him halfway, and his body slid easily into the now-familiar embrace. An _embrace_. Something solid and strong and meaningful, on 2D's side.

As much as it made Murdoc nervous, he went with it.

He picked up the antique and he dropped it. He dropped it and listened as it crashed into jagged shards that scattered across the floor.

He picked it up and he dropped it again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

* * *

(1) - this went from a twinkie, to beer, to soda. I stuck with soda. I like the mental image of 2D with soda pop. It's squishy and cute.  
(2) - "Good evening." 


	8. Tension

**The Thing About  
**Chapter: Seven.  
Series: Gorillaz.  
Rating: R. Foul language, angst, and slash (Murdoc/2D)  
Disclaimer: Albarn's and Hewlett's.  
Chapter Warnings: For this chapter, sexual situation that would make George Dub-ya keel over and croak. Erm. Blasphemous. :D; It's been tuned down a bit again for and there's dirty language. And a bit of angst thrown in. 

Notes: Hi. I am not a personal fan of this chapter. However, it is also late at ni-- :double checks time.: ... early in the morning, and I am really tired. And REALLY sleep-deprived. Again.  
So here ya go.Sorry for taking so long to get back into it. The holiday made my musea littlelazy, and the London bombings have sorta been putting a damper my creative energies. THIS IS.. also un-beta'd. So yeah. Keep that in mind. Enjoy. :)

* * *

Found in Murdoc's personal journal.. after pages upon pages of hastily jotted bass chords and unfinished lyrics, amongst indecipherable scribbles and a doodle of something looking vaguely like an ugly frog with an erection.. the most recent (and final) entry:

_"Maybe in time. You'll ..."_

The periods continue on to the very edge of the page.

* * *

Of course, time dragged on, as it normally does. Two agonizingly long weeks.

This particular passage was slow, like trying to run through waist-deep water. Things began to seep together and the clarity of the days started blurring. The excitement was gone. Now, it was all routine, and it was beginning to seem awfully predictable.

Russel's lecture had done very little to sway Murdoc's determination to keep his newfound means of mentally breaking his singer down, at first, but it had gotten him thinking about it a bit more than he wanted. It had gone from a simple, casual nightly occurance to somewhat of an obsession, despite the redundancy. It never failed, either. 2D always came to him around the same time after dark, and neither of them would speak. Their movements were synchronized. Though Murdoc would never admit it - to himself, or anyone else - he was beginning to know 2D from the inside and the outside. The more he learned, the greater his desire to learn more got.

He hated it.

But it kept going.

It never broke its pattern. The night would go on as planned, and 2D would always be the first to wake up and leave. Murdoc had always been lost in an exhausted sleep, and the singer's departure never woke him. Nagging curiosity began to prick at the back of his mind. What was 2D thinking whenever he woke up and found himself laying next to the same person every night? It couldn't have been good, by the way he always acted the next morning. The daily zombified attitude didn't improve; if anything, it'd gotten worse. The warning glares Russel reserved only for Murdoc in this case started hardening with full-blown hatred. Noodle spent most of her time trying to keep 2D's deterioration in check by attaching herself to his side and watching his every move. Away from the public eye, the band as a whole didn't talk much, anymore.

That was the thing about tension. It could start off so unnoticeable, and suddenly become thick enough to reach out and touch.

Guilt settled like a heavy weight on Murdoc's shoulders. Each day, another pound was added on. It got to the point where Murdoc spent most of his own time chain-smoking in his Winnebago, fiddling about on his bass and trying to reassure himself that the guilt was a passing thing, and he was simply just caught in the eye of the proverbial storm. It was a joke. A gag. Haha, life, very funny.

The storm showed no signs of letting up, and the joke didn't seem to have a punchline.

During band interviews, everyone simultaneously pretended that everything was just as it should be. They all fell into an old routine, a clever disguise.

Behind Kong Studio's closed doors, however, things were Not So Good.

* * *

Summertime was overhead and the days were getting humid.

It had been weeks, perhaps even a full month, since the last time the graveyard sitting at the foot of the studio's mountain had been cleaned up, and the damage was beginning to pile. Murdoc, his restlessness and need to get out of Kong Studios growing at a rapid pace, decided that he was getting sick of everyone being lazier than he was and to take it upon himself to keep the damage from getting any worse.

It'd started out as a fairly pleasant day, anyway. The morning was clear, the sun had decided to poke curious fingertips through rips in the perpetually overcast sky, and sunshine always promised safety in the normally zombie-infested graveyard. The weather was just perfect enough to finally get out and try to clean. It wasn't so bad once one got used to it, but after a long period of time, the collection of broken tombstones, oversized clumps of dirt and grass, scattered graves either half-filled or completely empty, various body parts and limbs strewn about... it all became an eyesore. And the stench grew to be overwhelming, as well.

When the bassist set out with a shovel and a large black bodybag, it had still been nice outside.

By the time he got down to the graveyard, the sun was threatening to retreat again.

Ten minutes into refilling a freshly vacated grave, the skies were back to being cloudy and dark. The clouds in the distance were getting darker and heading in Kong's direction. Great. A looming storm. That was all he needed.

_Goddamnit._

Was it just him, or did everything just seem to be going down the shitter lately? He would have liked to think that releasing a sophomore, best-selling, chart-topping album would bring the band closer together, professionally. Something went wrong, somewhere; instead of going down that nice, orderly path, everyone just seemed to be getting less and less social with one another. And it was all because he _just so happened_ to be sleeping with their mental mess of a lead singer.

This was what he got for getting involved with a bunch of over-sensitive, overcaring, over-emotional musicians. He should have been a lawyer or something. At least then, he could rip someone a new one and get away with it, without having to worry about a seriously protective, large, scary black man chewing on his ass for it.

Er, metaphorically speaking.

Murdoc's thoughts came to ascreeching halt and he froze. Listened closely. He heard slow, shuffling footsteps, approaching him from behind. He wasn't surprised, at all; just nervous. The sky had gone dark again, and he was half-expecting the zombies to start re-emerging.

The dragging footsteps got louder as they drew closer and, grip tightening on the shovel in his hands, he turned with a savage growl, raising the tool into the air.

He just barely stopped himself from swinging. He froze again, shovel still lingering overhead. "... Jesus fuckin'..."

2D recoiled, ducking his head to the side and holding his hands up defensively. "NO! NO! Don't! I di'nt mean t'in'nerupt!"

Murdoc fixed him with a hard glare. "I should knock yer head off right now."

The singer cracked one of his damaged eyes open, still cringing. "P-put th'shovel down. I swears I didn't mean t'scare you."

"You did NOT scare me."

2D opened his other eye. Both eyes followed the shovel as it was lowered. He seemed to relax, only slightly. "O.. okay."

"So," Murdoc said, turning his back to 2D again and resuming his work. "wotcha want?"

"I wan'ned to help."

Murdoc scowled into the half-filled grave. "I c'n do it myself."

2D was wringing his hands. "Well... yeh, I know. But I figger the two ov'us could get more done b'fore it rains."

The bassist paused to look back at him. "S'posed to rain, eh? You do know that the zombies are gonna be out pretty soon, right?"

This was met with a stupid, gentle smile and a lame shrug.

Murdoc sighed. It was the most animated he'd seen 2D in quite a long time. "Right, fine, whatever. Christ. Make use'a that bodybag there an' start cleanin up the body parts."

2D didn't complain, and he did what he was told.

They worked in silence for an undisturbed twenty minutes or so. Things seemed to be going along rather smoothly.

_Seemed_ to be.

* * *

"NO!" Murdoc yelled, straining as another body came to thud heavily against the other side of the door. Same door he was currently trying to force shut. "I said NO, ya smelly _fffffuckers_!"

"Oi, Murdoc!" came the exclaimation from just behind him. "There's anuther one tryin'a get'is hand in!"

"I can _see that_, you wank. Urrrghh.. get BACK, you... _bloody_-... AHA!"

Murdoc cackled triumphantly as the door finally shut, with a bang loud enough to pound an echo through the half-abandoned building and nearly scare 2D straight out of his skin. The door had decapitated a grey, molding finger, and Murdoc ground against it with the heel of his boot.

2D grimaced at the sound it made. A nice, healthy _CRUNCH_. "Ouuh..."

"Ah, serves'em right," Murdoc muttered, picking uncomfortably at the wet shirt clinging to his skin. "an' of all places, the buggers'ad to chase us in _here_."

The church was small and dimly-lit, but somewhat impressive. It had only just recently been cleared out, save for the lines of pews, the altar, and the short row of confessional boxes lining the side of the room, but it still had a vague lived-in feeling to it. Some of the stained glass windows were broken, and almost all of them were fairly dirty, but it still felt nice. Still felt safe. Holy.

Which was the leading cause for Murdoc wearing his We Are Not Pleased expression.

"I kinda like it," 2D said, taking a look around.

"You would," came Murdoc's grumbled reply. "'bout as boring an' dull as you are."

2D was trying to smile and ignore the muffled, barely audible moaning coming from outside. The thumps and bangs against the door weren't helping. "Well at least it's summin to stay in fer now, yeh? We's in a bittovah sticky wicket, anyway." He moved further into the church and took a seat on one of the last pews.

Reluctantly, glowering,Murdoc followed suit. 2D scooted down to give him room to sit.

Murdoc had to admit, the younger man seemed to be having one of his better days. He still had the dark bags and the unnaturally pale skin, he still looked like Hell, but at least he'd cracked more than one smile so far. It must have been the damned guilt holding him back, because Murdoc felt the need to hold his tongue.

Besides, he was enjoying the view, anyway. Still looking around with the ignorant innocence he always seemed to possess, soaking wet straight through to the skin, still breathing heavy from running so much...

Murdoc shifted on the pew. It creaked and drew 2D's attention to him.

The bassist looked away and scowled up toward the altar. "Bloody buggers, blocking the way to th'studio..."

"Oi, at least we found a place t'stay 'ntil it th'rain-"

"Yeah, I know, shut up."

He did. And he seemed to close up on himself in the process, shrinking back against the pew and returning his gaze to the opposite side of the church.

It was silent for awhile, save for the hard, unending patter of the rain on the roof. There was an occasional thud against the door, but at least the moans had stopped.

When Murdoc spoke again, his voice was quiet.

"The hell's wrong with you, anyway?"

2D blinked out of his thoughts. "Huh?"

"You. Yer actin like fuggin _death walkin_ lately. More than y'usually do. It's annoying."

2D didn't say anything.

"Well?"

The pause that followed was long and uncomfortable. The urge to hit 2D became almost unbearable, but somehow, Murdoc kept himself outwardly calm until 2D reluctantly started to talk.

"... I don't know. It's jus' you an' me, I guess. I... awright, lookit." 2D took a deep breath. "Wot we're doin. Y'know, the... sleepin t'gether. Jus' seems t'me like ev'ry time we do it, it gets less'n less pers'nal an'... more'n more... like we're jus' machines. I can't'elp it, y'know? I kin'na thought it'd be a pers'nal thing'n it's jus' that ev'ry time we do it, I feel... empty."

So there it was. Out in the open, now. He glanced up, timidly searching for a reaction.

Murdoc's expression was blank. "Yer such a faggot, man."

Instant deflation. "...wot?"

"You sound like such a girl."

Something suddenly flared.

It came quickly and it was hot, heavy in 2D's chest. He rose from the pew as if it'd burned him. "Fuck _you_, Murdoc."

The Satanist's eyes widened. 2D didn't give him a chance to speak.

"Yeh, y'eard me. Lookit, m'sicka th'way y'been treatin me. _First _y'want me ta talk t'ya an' after m'done you go an' shoot me right back down t'where I was. Right back'at square one, Murdoc. All... see, all m'askin is for you to see me, awright? I.. I don't like not bein human t'you. I don't like jus' bein summin easy to fuck around wif 'ntil yeh had enough'a me."

The singer hesitated. The anger seemed to drain away all at once. His posture slumped.

"Yer.. yer my hero. Y'ave been since'at day I woke up an' I couldn't r'member anyfing. An' you were there. Y'kept me alive. Y'didn't haf'to but y'did. An' I was happy when we started doin... y'know, 'cos I thought maybe we'd get closer. Y'know? Maybe I was fin'lly gettin under yer skin an' maybe yeh'd stop hatin me so much."

Murdoc's face was serious. And his voice was softer than 2D thought he'd ever heard it before. "You grew some balls jus' then, dullard."

"Yer bleedin right I did," 2D replied, but the venom had left his tone completely. He just sounded tired.

"...awright, 2D, look." Murdoc shifted. "I'm not gonna lie t'you an' say that I love you, yeah? An' I'm not gonna lie an'-"

"I never said I wan'ned ya t'love me."

"... _git_, I know that. Jus' hear me out. In all honesty, mate, I didn't have a scooby 'bout wot I was gonna say to all'a this until you brought up the coma. I don't... think y'can handle serious, okay? Ment'lly, I mean. You're... breakable."

"Y'already broke me, Murdoc," 2D said flatly. "wossit gonna hurt now?"

"No, see..." Murdoc paused, then growled with frustration. "You jus' can't handle it, okay? We'll leave it at that."

Murdoc looked away. 2D continued to stare at him.

"...can't handle it? Can't handle wot, now? Wan'ning t'be closer t'someone?"

"There's two sides to bein serious with someone, D. S'not all happy love and sunshine."

Again, with the flat tone, except this one was meant to stung, "I think I'd know, yeh? I'ad two girls b'foh you went'n chased 'em away from me."

Murdoc's eyes rose to meet 2D's. "Awright, damnit, that's e-fuckin-nough. _No_ sense in beatin that dead'n rotting horse."

"If I prove it, will you take me seriously?"

"Hey?"

2D moved closer, arms crossed over his thin chest. "If I prove t'you that I c'n handle you, willya stop seein me as some kin'na joke?"

Murdoc watched him carefully.

"Well?"

"... might take a lot of convincin, mate."

Determination flashed over 2D's face. "Z'at so?"

Murdoc didn't have a chance to respond before 2D was looming directly over him and he instinctively leaned back against the back of the pew, sucking in a sharp breath as a large, long-fingered hand openly cupped the crotch of his pants.

"Ah.. 2D, wot.."

"I'll prove it," 2D murmured, and leaned in. "I'll prove it."

The kiss was desperate and needy, Murdoc unaware of just how quickly the gesture would affect him. His body snapped awake immediately and he shifted up against 2D's groping hand, his own two hands curling fingers around the edge of the seat. 2D was unusually assertive, pushing a rush of emotion into the way he moved his lips against Murdoc's, and there was enough force behind it to keep Murdoc pinned where he was. Not that he particularly minded or anything.

The hand against his groin was suddenly gone, and he growled, pulling his head back and his lips away. "Stop fuckin around."

"I'm not," came 2D's calm reply, both of his hands moving to Murdoc's waistband.

"Nn.. never woulda thought'cha as th'type," the bassist grunted, tightening his grip over the edge of the pew's seat as his belt was hastily and clumsily undone. "to want to shag in a church. Doesn't, ah... seem right fer you."

The belt slid through the belt-loops and came free. 2D released it and let it drop to the floor, placing a hand on the back of the pew, just next to Murdoc's shoulder. As he leaned down, a chilling, toothless grin came to slide over his lips and for the first time ever upon knowing the younger man, Murdoc was suddenly sincerely intimidated. Intimidated right into silence.

Those endless, vacant eyes narrowed, and that usually light, innocent tone to his voice dropped to a purr. "Surprise."

The pants were opened and a roaming hand slid in, unabashedly. Murdoc dropped his head back against the top of the pew, eyes rolling back and closing, hips bucking up into the touch that wrapped firmly around him. Part of him wanted it to stop. The rest of him - the more important parts, at least - urged him to let it continue. Maybe there was more to 2D than what he'd always thought.

He wasn't quite sure when or how he was forced onto his back, stretched out along the pew with 2D somehow managing to straddle his waist, but it happened, and it'd happened fast. One of the vocalist's hands roamed up underneath his damp shirt, pianist fingers massaging his chest while hips ground teasingly against his own, making his back arch.

"I'll prove it," came a rumbling promise against his ear. "I'll prove it iffit kills me."

As he felt his shirt being bunched up over his abdomen and his pants being tugged down his hips, Murdoc let his gaze linger a moment longer on the beautifully crafted ceiling depicting Heaven, before letting his eyes fall shut and his voice come out with a single, long, raspy exhalation.

"_Mea culpa_."

* * *

( thanks, Katy, for the horrendously delicious idea. ) 


	9. Patience

**The Thing About**  
Chapter: Eight.  
Series: Gorillaz.  
Rating: R. Foul language, angst, and slash (Murdoc/2D.)  
Disclaimer: Albarn's and Hewlett's.  
Chapter Warnings: Blasphemeee, blaspheyooou, blasphe-everybodyintherooom. Churchsmut. Semi-graphic. 

Notes: Hello children. This chapter is short, but it's got sex in it and it's the beginning of a rather drastic turn of events.  
See, I was originally planning this story to be about one or two chapters away from ending, at this point. But NO. Of course not. My buddy-mistress Stan had to go and inspire me to tweek the storyline and plot, and drag this sucker on for another. um. five or six chapters. ...So.. thank her, I guess?  
Soyep. It's short, it's smutty, it's the vague introduction to a new twist, so I hope you enjoy and thanks again for all the awesome feedback. You guys own my soul.:D I hope the shortness doesn't disappoint.

* * *

Ache.

Everything ached.

Coiled up in the pit of his stomach until there was nothing but the friction. The _heat_. No here and now, no there and then, no frontways, no backways, nothing but the rhythm caught between where their bodies met and pulled apart again, and again, and again. Nothing but their mingled gasps for air, their tightening muscles, and their choked-back and cut-off curses. Anything and everything that surrounded them, from the haunting stained glass to the delicate carvings in the dirtied walls to the muffled and now barely-audible commotion still lingering outside the church doors, fell away and vanished and it was only them. It was only them and what they were doing and why they were doing it.

It was unlike any other time. It was _intense_. 2D had completely morphed himself with the sole purpose of _proving_ something to Murdoc;_ proving_ to him that he was a human being, with a heart and a soul and feelings and emotions and every single one of the Seven Deadlies lurking quietly but unpredictably beneath pasty skin and vacant eyes, like a volcano ready to erupt without warning. The younger man had been precise and careful in the way he handled Murdoc. It wasn't everyday he had him in a vulnerable position, after all.

If he didn't know what he was doing, he was certainly putting on a good show.

Murdoc felt his control weakening. He had never trusted helplessness, nor had he ever accepted it as a natural piece of him that just needed some luring out to show itself, but here he was, helplessly trembling, muscles sore and screaming, beneath the man he'd thought as, up until a few moments ago, nothing more than his inferior. 2D had him cornered, wrapped and curled around long, nimble pianist fingers like a thin string.

As terrifying as the thought was, the experience was anything _but_ unenjoyable.

He had somehow managed to hitch a leg up and over the back of the pew, and his hands, useless as they were, had long since stopped restlessly trying to find something to hold onto; settled for digging chewed nails into the soft, sweat-slick skin of 2D's back. The singer tried to maintain some semblence of eye contact, but had given up once the smooth rhythm of their hips was found, and he dropped his forehead to Murdoc's shoulder, panting hot breath and murmuring what sounded like an indecipherable litany of profanities against his collarbone.

The pew creaked beneath them and the hard surface was Hell on Murdoc's back, but he barely noticed it as 2D consistently changed the angle of his hips, making each drive in harder, deeper, faster, surprisingly careful not to slide into monotony and keep every movement, each breath, each choking groan different from the last and the last and the last.

Everything had been happening so quickly. Murdoc's head spun and everything came to run together like moistened chalk. His breath hitched and hiccupped in his lungs, stuttering past his lips as he tried to bite back his moaning for the sake of his pride and failed, and when he came, it was hard, jolting, rushing up from the balls of his feet to slam into his midsection, so hard that he was almost physically _forced_ to arch up against 2D's body, the sounds peeling from his throat frighteningly reminiscent of rough, grunting sobs. It took hold of him by the shoulders and shook him, violently, until the colours blended together completely and dimmed down to black.

The last thing his vision caught clearly from behind his damp, dark hair was 2D hovering over him, eyes shut, mouth open, forehead furrowed and eyebrows coming to knit together, tussled hair and damp, flushed face haloed by the dimly-lit Heaven stretched across the church ceiling.

* * *

When his senses started humming again, he could feel slow, gentle lapping of something warm and wet against his neck and collarbones.

He cracked an eye open. There was a weight on top of him. It was warm; sticky and uncomfortable in the middle. His mouth tasted coppery and unpleasant. He craned his neck up a bit and the lapping stopped.

2D pulled his head up and their eyes met.

The singer looked just as tired as Murdoc felt.

His eyes pulled from 2D's and landed on his neck. It was raw and red, trickled with blood. "Yer bleedin."

2D's mouth twitched up in the smallest, meekest of smiles. "You bit me."

"Did I?"

A nod.

"Don't r'member that part. Would explain th'taste, though."

Another nod.

"How long've I been out?"

"Few minutes, maybe."

Murdoc tried to stretch. 2D got the hint and shifted, pushed himself up on still-shaking arms to give him room.

"Th'rain stopped."

"Yeh," 2D replied, using his still-recovering strength to push all the way up and kneel between Murdoc's parted legs. The Satanist glanced down and grimaced.

"Fuckin' mess," he grumbled and peeled his shirt up and over his head, wadding it into a ball and wiping at the mess spattered across his abdomen. He looked at it for a moment when he finished, debating whether or not to even bother carrying a balled-up, semen-covered shirt back to the studios with him.

The vocalist moved to his feet, using his own (previously discarded) shirt for the same purpose before pulling his jeans the rest of the way up his hips and fastening them slowly. Murdoc tossed the soiled shirt over the back of the pew and followed suit, grabbing his pants and turning them right-side in before sliding into them.

2D nudged his own teeshirt underneath the pew with his foot and quietly watched as Murdoc adjusted himself, admiring the way the light, dim as it was, still managed to catch the golden upside-down cross dangling around his neck.

They left the church, shirtless and wary, keeping their eyes open for the undead and on the skies for any shift in the weather. It was still overcast, but the worst seemed to be over and the darker clouds seemed to have passed completely. It was a fairly long walk back, and most of it was kept in silence. At one point, as they'd been walking close together, their pinkies brushed and 2D felt his stomach tighten. Murdoc pretended not to notice.

The atmosphere surrounding them was strange, but comfortable. Murdoc kept to himself, trapped in his own thoughts and trying to sort them, and 2D gave him the space to do so. He let his eyes drift to him every so often, but he'd always either be staring at the ground as they walked, or looking off in the opposite direction. The thing about patience was that it was a _virtue_, but not everyone had that sort of will-power. He wanted to say something, because although the silence _was _comfortable, it wasn't what he wanted.

But he didn't. He'd pushed the envelope a bit more than he should have, already. Once was enough for one day.

* * *

"Well, what do you think?"

Noodle half-shrugged, drumming her fingers along the edge of her guitar.

"He seemed different."

She nodded. "A little better."

"But sad."

The girl shifted in her chair, interest long since waned from getting anything productive done. She'd asked Russel to leave the desk room's door open in case 2D should happen to wander into the studio kitchen and spot them, but unfortunately, there had only been a single, brief glimpse of the singer since he and Murdoc returned. He had, indeed, made his way to the kitchen, but instead of peeking curiously into the adjoining room as he normally did, he walked an almost robotic path to the refrigerator, took a beer, and walked right back out. The expression on his face was distant and almost... disturbingly thoughtful.

There hadn't been any sight of Murdoc. Noodle and Russel both assumed he'd gone straight to his Winnebago and holed himself up.

Russel broke the momentary silence that fell between them with a long sigh. "I think we should stop tryin to interfere."

Noodle turned her eyes to him.

"I mean, we already did what we could," the drummer said. "and... I don'know. We tried, but I think we gotta let them fig'ger things out for _themselves_. I ain't gonna lie. I'm gettin pretty sick of playin the overprotective mother."

"Mm. Perhaps we have tried too hard."

"Maybe." Russel reclined back in his seat and it creaked quietly in protest. "Don't mean I'm gonna stop worryin about D, but we're treatin him like he's a kid. And we _both_ know he can handle hisself, if it comes to it." He paused, staring down at the control board in front of him, before adding, "B'sides, I'm gettin some vibes lately that I just ain't down with."

This intrigued the girl, and she raised an eyebrow.

"S'like someone's gonna snap, soon. I don't think it's gonna be either one of us. I don't like these vibes, either. Somethin's comin. I can _feel_ it. It's like the calm right before a hurricane. And it's gonna hit all of us, not just them."

Noodle said, solemnly, "You always have been... very empathetic, Russel-san. And good at predicting. You should trust that."

Russel nodded distractedly. But he knew that wasn't going to happen.

As much as he relied on his gut feelings, he didn't always trust them. He didn't always want to.


	10. Presence

**The Thing About**  
Chapter: Nine.  
Series: Gorillaz.  
Rating: NC/17, to be on the safe side. Foul language, angst, and slash (Murdoc/2D).  
Disclaimer: Albarn's and Hewlett's.  
Chapter Warnings: Dry, quick-moving, soveryminor slashy hints. Mmmcliffhanger.

Notes: HEY KIDDOS, KOU'S BACK.  
You have no... idea how hard it was to pump this out. But I managed, didn't I? Yes I did.  
This chapter was... me hurdling over a very long, very... um, devastating? writer's block. It's dry, and fullofstuff, because I want to draw out the next ones in length. I hope it doesn't disappoint, and I hope I can regain some of the strength I used to have in writing.

* * *

The rain continued in off and on sporadic waves for the next two weeks.

A storm was brewing, somewhere above and beyond the murky watercolour grey of the sky. It was heavy in the air, like a dead weight drifting in and out of the lingering fog.

A storm was brewing elsewhere, too.

* * *

Toward the end of that second week, Murdoc had finally woken up as 2D tried to leave. Murdoc was a heavy sleeper, and light sleep came on rare occasion. Perhaps it was the shifting of the mattress, or the sudden lack of weight and warmth beside him, but i something /i had caught the attention of Murdoc's consciousness enough to ease it out of sleep.

2D had just been sitting up and moving his legs over the edge of the mattress when Murdoc groggily reached out to catch his wrist. 2D grunted quietly and turned to look down at him with surprise.

"Where're y'goin, eh?"

2D was quiet for a moment. "... back to me room."

Murdoc was battling fatigue and losing. "So eager t'leave me, aintcha."

This moment of silence was a bit longer than the last. 2D hadn't quite been prepared to talk to the bassist until later on in the day. "Sorry I woke yeh."

"Are you depressed?" Murdoc blurted, because it seemed, to his half-coherent mind, like a marvelous question to ask the nude singer sitting awkwardly on the edge of his bed at four in the morning.

2D stared at him through the semi-darkness. "Uh?"

"Do y'cut yerself?"

That one earned him a weird look. "Nnnno."

"Wanna kill yerself?"

"Wot're you on about?"

The more his mind woke up, the more Murdoc realized how _little _sense he was making.

He tried again.

"Look." He sat up, his grip on 2D's wrist loosening a little. The singer made no move to pull his hand away. "Y'been driving everyone batshit fruity lately and it's gotta stop, man. It's getting on everybody's nerves."

Murdoc could just barely see 2D face mold into a frown.

"M'not doin nothin'," he muttered defensively.

"S'that right?" His hand fell away from 2D's wrist. "First you sulk, then you're all stand-offish, and then you sulk some more. You're actin' like a moody girl and I feel like a bomb's ready to go off somewhere in that dank, empty carcass of yours."

2D didn't say anything. His gaze rose to the back window, shrouded by a confederate flag but still letting some light through, and he stared at it. Vacant. Looking, but not _seeing_.

A long silence rolled by.

"Out with it," Murdoc urged, but 2D only grimaced. So, despite how irritated he was getting, he kept quiet and waited. A few times during the long, awkward gap of nothing but their breathing - Murdoc's slow and steady, 2D's quick and nervous - 2D looked like he was getting ready to say something, but he kept stopping himself. Murdoc just grit his teeth, lay back, and let him collect his thoughts.

He fell asleep again before 2D would regroup himself. When he woke up a few hours later, the singer was gone.

* * *

And the first crack of thunder hit. Hard.

* * *

They'd all been suspicious when 2D hadn't emerged from his room once the afternoon came around.

Noodle passed by the room several times over the course of the morning, and once or twice, she stopped to place a tentative ear to the door. The chilling silence, the utter lack of _anything _coming from the other side left her unnerved, and by five o'clock or so, she finally brought her concerns to Russel.

"D?" Russell asked when he got to the door, Noodle clinging to one of his hands while the other rapped knuckles on the damaged wood.

No answer. Noodle was expecting that. She chewed on her bottom lip as Russel tried again.

Still nothing.

"You better be dead in there," Russel grumbled as he reached for the doorknob and pushed the door open.

2D's room was in its usual state of disarray. The blankets of his bed were spilling from the bed to the floor, clothing was strewn across the floor, and papers and bottles littered 2D's nightstand and keyboard desk.

2D wasn't there.

Noodle stepped timidly into the room, glancing around. Russel followed her.

"...where the hell...?" and he trailed off when a dab of yellow on an otherwise black and white instrument caught his eye.

A shiver worked its way up his spine as he approached the keyboard.

It was definitely a note. He picked it up and read it. Noodle lingered behind him, nervous, wringing her small hands.

Only two words.

_"Out. Searching."  
_

* * *

The band kept the disappearance behind Kong's closed doors. Russel politely turned down interviews and nobody left the grounds.

Noodle panicked, at first, afraid of what may have happened to the singer with the storms starting up and the cemetery becoming active again. She refused to believe that 2D would leave them without discussing it with them, first.

Then, she fell into a quiet depression and tried her hardest to hold herself together, for her own sake. She put her guitar away. She relied on listening instead of playing. It helped her to think.

Russel was there to help her stay on her feet. Going out and looking for 2D would more than likely prove to be an absolute waste of time and energy that none of them seemed to have. He interrogated Murdoc, demanded to know if 2D had left him with any clues at _all _where he'd be disappearing to. Murdoc didn't know. He answered every question Russel threw at him with uncharacteristically sincere honesty.

Murdoc was not enjoying the sudden lack of 2D's presence, either. One of the best things about 2D was his _presence_.

He found himself _missing_ him. Missing the taste and smell of his skin, missing the way he hummed to himself when he ate, missing the way he said his name like MUH-doc, missing his stupid gaping smile and his endlessly dark eyes. Missing. And craving. And wanting.

And falling asleep every early morning hating himself for it.

* * *

But 2D was fine, for the most part. He'd been using public transportation, he'd bothered to make a half-assed attempt at disguising himself (which worked), and half the time he was too sleep-deprived to even know what was going on or where he was heading. He finally fell asleep on a double-decker bus and wound up somewhere just beyond the borderline of Kent and London. Didn't know how he got there, but at least he knew where he was, and his wits were gathered enough to start heading home.

It had been almost two weeks since he left. Being alone did wonders for his mood and his self-confidence. The idea that he'd been turning around and around in his otherwise vacant head finally made sense, and he finally felt perfectly comfortable with it.

In his travels, he'd stopped at a small roadside convenience store London. As he leafed through a magazine he meant to buy while waiting in line for the register, he caught sight of a little girl reaching up to grab a candy bar from the top of the cash wrap. Her mother, in her attempts to stop her, accidentally struck her on the side of the head with her swinging shopping bag.

2D smiled to himself, almost sympathetically, as the mother quickly bent to pick her child up, murmuring a litany of apologies and smiling in a strained it-was-funny-but-I-shouldn't-laugh sort of way. The little girl's face started turning red and scrunched up on itself, ready to unleash a series of gut-wrenching sobs (only the way a child truly can), but instead, she pulled away to look her mother in the eye.

"Make it better!" she demanded, infuriated but endearing, and her mother kissed her, right where the bag had hit. She immediately calmed, and the angry flush drained from her cheeks.

2D watched them, in awe, as they left the store.

It had been made better with a very simple, almost mindless gesture of affection. That was all it needed.

2D took that memory with him, fresh in his mind, up until he finally made his way back to the gates of Kong Studios.

* * *

He returned to his band mates and his home absolutely exhausted, but somehow at peace with himself. Noodle was the first to reach him, throwing herself at him and clinging to him tightly, almost on the verge of tears as she demanded to know why he left, where he'd gone, how he could just randomly drop everything and abandon them, until her words tripped over one another on her tongue and she slid into chastising him in frantic Japanese that he didn't understand.

Russell was a little more understanding, placing a warm, careful hand on his shoulder and asking if he was all right. Even with such blank eyes, Russell's compassion and concern was heartbreakingly clear. 2D didn't say much; just held onto the girl hugging him around his too-thin waist, smiled tiredly, and reassured his drummer that he was fine, just "an ickle bit knackered".

Murdoc was there, lingering in the doorway. His arms were by his sides, his posture was straight and alert, and his face was cast with an unnerving, forced blankness. He had nothing to say. No chiding, no foul remarks. Nothing. He just stood, and stared, and looked as though he still couldn't process that 2D had even left to begin with.

2D was far beyond caring at that point. The whole goal of his trip was to help him forget. He was growing to like apathy, he found, because it was gloriously empty and unemotional. Not a care in the world. Comfortably numb.

"Why?" Noodle still wanted to know. "Why did you leave? Why didn't you say anything to us?"

The singer was tired. His body felt like it was weighted down and dragging. He bent to kiss Noodle on the top of her head. "I'll es'splain it all t'morrow," was all he offered to his worried band mates as he untangled himself from Noodle's arms and turned to brush wordlessly by Murdoc and head for his room.

Nobody stopped him, and nobody followed.

* * *

He explained the next day, just as he said he would.

"I been thinkin' bout summin' fer awhile," he said when the band gathered up in the studio kitchen. "An' I thinks it's time t'come out wiffit."

Russel and Noodle exchanged looks. Murdoc was admittedly curious, but impatient. The uncomfortable feeling that had been settling was now suffocating.

2D didn't falter. He was confident. It was a rare sight.

"I'mna hafta be honest. I love all of yehs like me own flesh'n blood. Don't matter how m'treated. Yer kin, an' m'happy t'ave known ya."

Deep breath.

"... but."

And

exhale.


End file.
